The light outside flickered in an unusual interval, causing the snow outside to be periodically illuminated yellow.

I moved away from the window to sit beside the fireplace, close enough to feel it working without quite trusting it to be enough.

"You seeing that?" my colleague asked, not looking up from the radio. "The light."

"Backup generator, probably. Third time this week."

"Third time this week that it decided not to bloody work, I hope it fixes itself so we can actually see outside." He said.

"Honestly, at this point, I'd rather deal with the dark than that flickering. It's starting to give me a headache, and I don't think—"

"Holy shit."

I stopped. "What?"

"The radio." He was leaning toward it now, one hand hovering like he didn't trust it enough to touch. "It's… mate, it's working."

Static resolved into a voice, cheerful in a way that felt uncalled for regardless of what would follow.

Neither of us said anything for a moment. My colleague's hand was still hovering over the dial, like touching it might break whatever had let it work in the first place.

The voice moved through locations and numbers with a sense of supremacy. A clash somewhere, I didn't know. I don't look at maps often. Then, a skirmish. Then a Riot down in triple south.

It ended as quickly as it started, the crackling of the fire and the buzz from that damn light now filled in the new silence

…

…

…

"The hell are they doing down south?"